Malibu
by saison
Summary: When Florence ran away from the team with her niece, she left nothing behind except a past that compromised her future. With the team trying to locate her, her closest confidant is having a troubled mind, full of contradictions that have never past his perspective. Will love finally drive him mad? A sequel to "Hallelujah."
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is the marvelous sequel I've been talking up for quite some time! It is based off of the Hole song, "Malibu," which I do not own. I also do not own Criminal Minds.

That being said... I'm taking a two month hiatus starting November 1st and lasting through January 18th (at the very latest) to focus on school and other projects. I'm going to try to complete the sequel by then, and it looks like I can manage that. Malibu isn't going to be that long, in fact, I'm almost done with it.

This story is written in a third person limited point of view, unlike Florence's point of view, you'll see why.

Enjoy!

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**_"Know Thyself"~ Plato._**

* * *

Many times, he found that he hated people he loved the most. This was one of those periods where he couldn't decide whether he should let his anger get the best of him, or be cordial, polite, be what she would've been to him. Spencer knew though, that if he picked one over the other, he'd wish that he'd done the opposite.

He didn't hate those people because that's who they were, he hated their actions. He hated Florence's actions. Those actions weren't out of honor, they weren't even out of protection, these actions were straight from the definition of impulse and selfishness. Spencer couldn't breathe from the amount of pressure he felt in his chest when he stared at her from across the hall. There were no words to describe this feeling of true disgust.

He'd once looked into those eyes and found a solace. That was once, a time period that was only days, but felt like years. Those green eyes once held hope and the essence of love, the last thing that wasn't hardened by the terrors that accumulated thickly everywhere else on her. Spencer cared, that was the thing he was sure of. He really wished that one thing would leave already and go to hell.

Apathy would be much more beneficial to his mental state at the moment, which was battered at the very best. His life had never been a contradiction, they were redundant, Spencer hadn't the time to waste chasing himself around in circles. Instead, he chased her around in circles, and he wasn't fond of that either. He'd gotten so used to the circle Florence ran in, he hadn't thought she'd get dizzy and run off.

But she did.

It happened.

Now he was here; Bounded by the forever lingering notes of caring, his heart giving out, and his fuse relatively short among other things unfortunately limited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Sorry I haven't been updating for a couple of days. Tonight I'm uploading two chapters. This story probably won't be over ten chapters and the tenth one is going to be choppy. I'll be able to complete this by the end of October, no worries.

Enjoy! How do you like the story so far? I wanna hear.

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_** "Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... but how much love we put in that action." ~Mother Teresa.**_

* * *

Now, as he stood here at this home he had learned to call his own in the past months, he fought those tears that weren't coming. He should've known when he saw the badge and the earrings on the coffee table. Goddamit! This was just one big circle of stuff he should've known. Flo was gone; he had the chance to stop her, but no. No, no, no. Spencer had to always see the good in people, had to always expect more from the people he cared about.

He hated that part, the vulnerability. The foreknowledge he could've stopped her was amazing. It was a heavy anvil lying on his concaving chest after a marathon. This was equivalent to four weeks of intensive withdrawals that would seemingly last forever. Florence Adrianne had to go do one last stupid thing before she died and this time she didn't leave a single trace.

"You should've waited for her to go to the crime scene!" JJ scolded.

Spencer narrowed his eyes. So much animosity at so many things were being built up right now, he knew that JJ would be the unworthy receiver of that fury, "You don't even like her Jenifer," he replied calmly.

JJ gave him the glazed over look as Spencer ducked under the tape. Where would she flee to? His phone rang and Penelope's face illuminated the small square. "Garcia," Reid sighed in relief, maybe she had something.

"Alright, I was about to look up customs and passports for both Flo and Holly, but it turns out there's a whole new can of worms we've opened up," Penelope spoke quickly, trying to get everything out of her mouth at once. Once she caught her breath and muttered a curse word or two, she followed herself up, "First off, the cell phone I was tracking went into airplane mode, so it's bouncing between towers. And it turns out that Harrison Alessi was brutally murdered in his dorm room with his girlfriend, Janna Thomas. Janna had the words 'In hoc signo vinces' carved into her chest along with the Roman numerals for four and twenty three. That rings a bell, right?" Penelope blurted out frustrated at the whole situation.

"Constantine the Great, April twenty-third is the day of his feast," Spencer began making the connections. Once he connected the dots he put her on speaker phone. "Constantine the Great said that, 'In hoc signo vinces,' after seeing the first three letters of Jesus' name before the Battle of Milvian Bridge. It translates to, 'In this, we conquer.' Garcia, check customs, they're probably bound for Istanbul," Spencer configured, seeing Emily nod in agreement. Reid knew if they were going to Istanbul than they'd probably be approaching landing by now.

Penelope groaned, pecking away at the keyboard audibly over the phone. "No, Ankara," she responded. "Is Hotch there? I mean, someone has to go talk some sense into her crazy ass…" Garcia snidely remarked.

Spencer knew what she meant. Florence did need some sense, maybe some decency too. Not only did she have Holly, but Flo failed to realize that she always had Alex too, and for that small reason, he was adamantly disgusted with Florence Adrian Carter. JJ took that as a queue to go gather in the team along with Emily as Spencer swiped the emeralds he bought her from the table. She possessed no class whatsoever.

Penelope repeated her findings, and Spencer repeated his to the three other men composing the team. "Who's going then?" Hotchner questioned Garcia, using the prying eyes to discern who was going to leave.

"Shouldn't we all go since that's where the unsub is going?" Derek raised his eyebrows.

Rossi shook his head. Spencer knew that there wasn't a great chance they could even go after him. "In case he comes back there needs to be a group here," the older man kept a stern face. Reid knew David probably felt incompetent as a profiler along with him. They should've seen it happening since they were close to Florence. This never should have happened.

"Emily has to go, if anyone," Hotchner replied, "But something tells me that Carter wouldn't run away if Gates was solely after her." Aaron began pilfering through the living room, finding an orange pill bottle. Reid knew that she couldn't possibility make it through security with it, but what the aged profiler was suggesting was something different, something out of place. "Maybe… It wasn't planned at all, but it was an impulse," he dropped the Ritalin into the bag.

Spencer shook his head, using his superb memory to revisit Flo's face this morning, "Her pupils were dilated, she took the medicine."

David agreed, nodding his head during the silence in order to think. Garcia hadn't said anything in a while but was still typing away from what they could hear. "Amphetamine psychosis?" JJ perked up, trying to apply what she could to the conversation. Even though she wasn't a profiler, she could pick up on things that ordinary people couldn't.

"Think about it, she's a control freak, Florence has to be meticulous by nature," Derek quipped, dusting off the books lying on the bottom of the coffee table. Between Spencer's thick pharmaceutical textbook and a copy of DSM diagnosis booklet, Derek pulled out a newspaper clipping, a recent one as well. "She can't afford to be anything else," Morgan mused as he studied the thin transparent material. Eliza's obituary was nestled between the stacks. Underlined, the statement was not one to be ignored. "Garcia, did Eliza probate her will before her death?" Derek questioned, showing Emily the frail paper.

"Oh my gosh, yes," Penelope gasped. Beginning to type away furiously at the keyboard, she began talking in the hurried manner once more, "She apparently filed for probate a week before her death and got it by God knows how. Eliza left Flo twenty grand and a property in… Geneva, Switzerland."

"That's a two-thousand mile journey from Ankara, Garcia, any connections with the property and Turkey?" Emily's eyebrows rose.

Spencer crouched down, much to his healing knees protest and began picking through the coffee table alongside Morgan. Maybe Flo had left another clue around here. Actually, Spencer corrected himself, she wouldn't leave clues. Florence didn't want them to find her, so she'd leave behind things that were meant to be hidden.

Things that were meant to be hidden, Spencer racked his brain for something like that. Flo referred to her scars as that. Florence took down the painting of Harrison's and put it in Holly's room. Something told him he wasn't thinking on the correct wavelength. What were things Florence didn't want anyone to ever see? Their relationship? Her scars?

Maybe another relationship. Reid felt his large circle of a mind click together as he lifted himself up to advance up the stairs. Everyone looked at him like a mad men but he bolted up each step with JJ in close follow. Upon reaching Carter's room, he plopped down to his stomach and fished out the cardboard wedding box. "What the hell are you doing?" JJ questioned as she observed his nimble movements.

"She wasn't leaving clues JJ; she slipped up and left things. That clipping was meant to be hidden, like this wedding dress, and whatever else is in here," he sputtered, ripping open the cardboard.

Rossi was leaned up against the doorway, examining Spencer as he threw the lacy gown out of the neatly folded arrangement it rested in. Underneath the beautiful gown was what they were looking for. Bundles of letters from Eliza to Flo were tied together with shoelaces. Manila folders littered the cardboard, each one flat and compressed, numbered with a thick black pen. Bullets rolled around aimlessly as Spencer's eyes widened at the semi-automatic assault rifle lying there as if it belonged with a wedding dress.

Emily joined whatever commotion was upstairs, "I didn't know their relationship was that bad," she commented, pushing past Rossi to venture inside the room.

"Garcia is cross-checking the house in Geneva and homes in Ankara and Istanbul, trying to find similarities," Derek added as he entered the room with Hotch, informing those who had ran up after Reid. David stayed at his scrutinizing post trying to differentiate the findings and the facts.

JJ rolled the fabric between her fingers, examining the box, "This isn't a store bought piece," she announced, using a gloved hand to check a tag.

"It's hand crafted Venetian lace, authentic, something like this would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars," Emily stroked the fabric. Her mouth twitched in amazement, "It's old world too, someone knew what they were doing and they were experienced."

JJ stared at Emily for a moment and sighed. This dress was magnificent, it was breathtakingly beautiful, and Flo wouldn't wear it if life depended on it. It was very likely she'd want to get rid of it. They both felt bad for sharing the same thoughts within one look, but knew that they couldn't help themselves. "We need to figure out who's going to Turkey before we lose too much time," Derek interrupted.

"Emily and I should probably go," Hotch suggested. It was agreeable since Emily knew languages and cultures, and Aaron was the unit chief.

"Reid should come because he's good with maps and can assimilate quickly," Emily gestured.

He nearly sank. Spencer didn't know what he'd do if he was the reason she died. There was a part in his heart that wanted to go though, to save her, to do something about it. More or less, he was torn between two worlds of the two Flo's he knew, and he didn't know who to go after. "That leaves Rossi, JJ, and Derek here, and Anderson if you need an extra," Hotch replied.

Without any further words, Garcia picked the perfect time to suspend the deadly silence that spoke too many words. Reid was in his own fog and didn't care to listen to Penelope's cheerful banter, so he picked what parts he wanted to hear. "… There's a builder, Hawthorne Orvis, he built exactly one house in Istanbul that has the exact same floor plan as the home is Switzerland. He's also a fashion designer low on the totem pole, and has a record," Garcia informed.

"Tell us, Baby Girl," Morgan grimaced.

"Fraudulent documents, apparently he forged a passport to get to Sweden, and then there's a charge for tax evasion. He didn't go to jail for either, but is on strict probation," Penelope finished.

"What type of clothing does he design Garcia?" Emily cleared her throat. Staring down the lace folds, her eyes trained to pick up small details.

Hotchner gave her a look, trying to figure out why she was examining the dress like so. "Lace pieces like these are numbered, and the last one will have an initial of sorts," Spencer explained.

Penelope chuckled, "These gorgeous haute couture, custom made for the fashion unenlightened, gowns." Emily nodded her head as she found the last lace form. Hawthorne had made this. Not only had the man made it, he handcrafted it to Florence's body, there were fittings. They had to meet somewhere. Carter had a relationship with Hawthorne, whether that relationship included illegal activities, they were about to figure out.

"The handwriting is the same on the numbers as the envelopes," Emily concluded, pinching open a manila folder. Dumping the contents on the silky comforter, out fell forged passports and visas as expected.

JJ frowned, shuffling through the extensive contents of the first folder. There were twelve stacked neatly in an evidence box, unscathed, "This wasn't impulse," her blonde head shook back and forth. Even though she wasn't a profiler, her theory was right.


	3. Chapter 3

_**"We must use time wisely and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right." ~Nelson Mandela**_

* * *

A cell phone rang in the cabin, butting in during the sleep that they all desperately needed. Spencer, who couldn't find that solace, answered the phone, "Garcia," he yawned. From what he knew, it was probably seven in the morning their time. He strolled to the bar drowsily and pulled down his favorite mug. Plane coffee was never superb, but he'd have to make due. "We're twenty minutes out of Istanbul…"

"Reid! He's freaking there already!" Penelope exclaimed. Spencer realized what she was saying and dropped the scalding hot coffee pot, watching it shatter into tiny fragments in the sink.

Hastily, he ducked his head back from the curtain, checking the real time flight tracker. "Son of a bitch," Reid muttered. Twenty minutes would have to shorten drastically.

"What's wrong?" Emily groggily questioned, pulling her head up from the couch.

"Garcia, you're sure?" Reid rubbed his temple, noticing a liquid being rubbed off at the same time. Retracting his hand, he saw the crimson blood pooling at his wrist and grabbed a towel from the bar.

By now, Hotch was alert and Reid put her on speaker phone, "No Reid, I'm pulling your chain because I thought it would be professional!" Penelope snidely remarked. Her sarcasm stung Reid but he knew that he shouldn't have questioned her. Of course Penelope wouldn't kid around when two lives, one of them being a child, were at stake. "He's at the coordinates right now," Penelope replied.

"It's going to be at least forty minutes before we can get there, have you talked out the embassy yet Garcia?" Hotch sternly interrogated, adopting that tone that he kept reserved for the most urgent and dire situations. It had the power to hush everyone in the room and taunted them to profile Hotch at the opportune moment. No one knew how to profile him because of his collected demeanor.

"Embassy told me they weren't going to respond, and the Turkish police told me to call embassy," Penelope panicked, her voice foreshadowing tears. Something in the background splintered, along with Derek's distinct cry of anger. Spencer suspected he punched another wall.

Emily's eyes snapped open in the sight of danger. She could keep it cool and under control like Hotch. Reid wasn't sure how to act, so he kept the towel pressed into his bleeding hand and mimicked Emily and Aaron. "Have you contacted Interpol?" Hotchner suggested.

"Will do, any other suggestions if they say no?" Garcia sniffled.

"Europol, then I'd take it to the UN police," Emily announced. Spencer's mouth dropped along with Hotch's as Garcia hung up the phone. Prentiss reached above the seat, pulling out bullet proof vests and laying them on the adjacent section. Aaron didn't seem to be taking the UN Police comment too well. "I know that was ambitious, but where else do we go after that?" Emily perched her eyebrows. She was right.

Reid reached across the aisle and began strapping himself into a vest. They needed to be ready to go when they landed. The phone rang again and Hotch picked it up immediately. "Interpol is sending a special fleet there and I'm redirecting you to them so you can send a profile of both," Penelope clicked a button and a new dial tone.

Spencer removed the towel from his hand and extended his arms above for a bandage he knew was housed in that compartment. With a quick hand adept to making things disappear, gauze was haphazardly stuck over the barely bleeding wound. "Hello, I'm Agent Aslan Avci with Interpol Turkey, you must be Agents Hotchner, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid," a husky accented voice spoke evenly into the phone.

"Yes, thank you Agent Avci, but our time is too limited for a formal greeting so my team and I are going to start rattling off profiles," Hotch spoke with hasty confidence, not caring if he were polite or not. If Aslan was professional he wouldn't take offense.

"You sound like a man after my own heart Agent Hotchner," Aslan commented.

After sharing a few looks and a nervous glance over to the real time flight screen, Spencer realized they had a while to go until they got there. "Florence is highly meticulous and will not stop at anything to protect Holly and herself, expect her to be armed heavily," Hotch began.

"Carter is also a smooth talker and very manipulative, she won't threaten you with any weapon, but she will be able to charm you out of your senses," Emily concurred.

Spencer knew it was his turn to add something, and he hesitated. Something wasn't right. There was something missing he was supposed to pick up on. "Alexander Gates is very meticulous, will not stop at anything to kill both women, he is also a very smooth talker, but his major flaw is his impulsiveness. Trouble usually lies in a path behind him."

"Alright, I think my team and I have it, you're landing in fifteen right?" Avci queried. Hotch muttered something while the phone began beeping again. Penelope was calling. Currently, considering the dire circumstances, she was more important than a cordial goodbye to Aslan Avci.

Spencer pressed the transfer call button and listened for Penelope's voice. She better be telling him something nice for once. Florence needed to live, she needed to make it out of this alive, and Spencer didn't have a clue what he'd do without her. He, in words he hated to throw around carelessly, loved her. Reid loved her a lot. There were times he knew it was illogical to love something so temporary, but he cared for her all the same.

Flo was the type of girl that was going to make a man really happy someday. Spencer already knew how happy he was around her, he wanted to be that man, he was jealous of the guy that came and she couldn't resist. But most of all, he desired to be that. At the end of each and every day, he wanted to be the reason Florence smiled for no reason, the reason she becomes lost occasionally, daydreaming. But what was he? He wasn't that guy; he couldn't be that guy for her.

"… So I traced the number that Gates called, and then I found Flo's signal, she's on foot," Penelope finished.

"Send the tracking information to Avci," Emily commanded, noticing Spencer's train of thought.

He couldn't focus on Penelope, but instead, he began strapping his pistol on. The rounds were in and he was ready to bolt as soon as the plane landed. Emily was all suited up, holding an assault rifle and Hotch was beginning to strap into a vest. Reid attempted to use the final ten minutes of the flight ironing out his stressors. Florence was still alive.

Gates wouldn't be though. Spencer's mind drifted to Gates and the vilest sense of mutiny overtook his being. Alexander would pay beyond what he was capable of producing. He should've died months ago in that tiny jail outside of Alexandria. Alexander Gates belonged in the dirt.

* * *

Once landing, Spencer lead the way out, sprinting down the steps as he prayed he wouldn't trip. In his headset, Spencer updated with an even tone, broken by staggering breaths, "Send Flo's tracking information to the SUV, Garcia," he ordered.

"Will do Reid," she replied. The sun beat relentlessly against his back. Each beam taunted him with the assurance of terrible things to come. Humidity was thicker than pancake batter as he fought to take in more of the arid air. As he leapt into the back seat and began strapping himself in, Hotch was next to follow.

Turning the ignition, on the dash there lay a screen with a moving destination—Flo. "Go, Hotch!" Emily yelped as she began fiddling with the seat belt. She didn't have to tell Hotchner again as he sped from the tarmac to the nearest exit. Lights were flashing and the people of Istanbul were fleeing from the street to the sidewalks. Florence was heading towards the Asian side on foot, and immediately halted. Emily was communicating over radio to Interpol; apparently they weren't having luck locating either female at a residence or in any sort of embassy. Alexander Gates was as good as dead, considering that his location wasn't exactly clear.

Spencer opened his phone he now knew was ringing in his pocket. "Penelope," he hushed, plugging the other ear.

"Holly just used her passport an hour ago to board a plane to Geneva," Penelope typed furiously. Spencer sighed. This was going to be a moment where he was going to have to define right and wrong. Flo was out there, fighting for her life, and they were going to have to turn around and leave her here to fight for herself. But, they were here for Holly. Holly was the only one they could technically force to come back. Customs and immigration would take care of Florence if the Turkish government couldn't.

Reid spoke into the phone, "Call an Air Marshall Garcia, do you really want us to drop everything when Flo's signal has stopped and leave her here to _die_?" he slurred, beyond angry. Ending the call, he was thanking his lucky stars, which were relatively scarce at the moment, if not nonexistent, that Aaron and Emily didn't pick up on the call.

"Yes we see the lights," Emily disconnected the call as Hotch slammed on the brakes.

Bolting from the door, the yellow crime scene tape surrounded the area. Reid ran out to the edge of the water, "You must be Dr. Reid," a familiar voice conjured.

"Yes I'm Dr. Reid, so this is the hair you found Agent Avci?" Spencer pulled a pair of gloves form his pocket and snapped them over his fingers. It was, without a doubt, Florence's hair.

Avci nodded as Aaron strode over confidently. Spencer could feel the presence of Flo, she had been here. Even though he hadn't experienced a hope so illogical, it was a feeling, one that he could not and would not deny. "Yep, and we found some blood on the trees towards the private dock, forensics is taking that up now," Avci scribbled something down on a notepad.

Spencer wracked his brain, something wasn't right here; something wasn't right about any of this. It pissed him off because this something wasn't tangible. Something was bothering him and for once in his life he wanted to beat the shit out of it. Yet, if he tried, it would appear that he'd be striking the air. Nothing is more convincing than punching the air when sanity is the subject.

That something, to Spencer, finally became tangible. Glittering in the water was something that he remembered quite well. Rationality and impulse rattled aimlessly in his head like there was a debate. Without a warning, he took a running start and dived into the warm turquoise water. Thankfully, this section was deep and much more forgiving than a waterway back home. Once emerging to the surface, he heard Emily angrily yell, "Have you lost your damn marbles, Reid!"

He didn't care; he had lost his _damn_ marbles. With a deep breath, he stuck his head back under the water and continued to swim. There were probably many sorts of bacteria, fish festering in the… Spencer had to stop himself. One thing mattered above the ecosystem of the Bosphorus, and that was Florence.

Once he reached his destination, he held up the item in pride. "Reid, get back here!" Hotch demanded, not appearing pleased with his performance or discovery of one of Carter's shoes. A section of Avci's team were preparing a boat a little ways down the river at the landing. The next thing Spencer saw floating absently towards him made him sink a little bit in the water due to the lack of will to tread. It made his stomach turn, his insides unsteady.

This confirmed his fear. One thing confirmed his something could become tangible. And now that it was, he knew the power of ignorance and why he so desperately desired it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I'm commencing the dump of chapters. I'm going to dump three tonight and three tomorrow. Then lovelies, that is it.

When I said this was going to be only ten chapters, I meant it weirdly enough. There is possibilities for another sequel, but I don't want to write another one. Really, I want to dump all of this and just be done with fanfiction. Anyways, there are popular song lyrics in this chapter... But I don't use more than three of the words consecutively in one sentence so it technically isn't plagiarism. But as always, I do not own the song and I do not claim to. If it bothers you, message me first and I will take it down.

Enjoy.

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**_"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." ~Leo Tolstoy_**

* * *

Clutching onto the shoe and the sweater, he was swimming full speed, face down in the water. Mainly, he swam this way so they wouldn't see his tears that were spewing down off of his face into the channel. Considering forty minutes had passed and Florence's signal was dead, it was safe to assume she was as well. The afternoon sun was heating his back as it broke through the water. Spencer felt his knee going weak, straining in pain, but he didn't care. It didn't matter.

Spencer scrambled on the dock, the bright afternoon sun beating onto his dripping dark shirt. Out of his arms fell the items as he took in air hastily. His chest fell and rose deeply and uncomfortably as he let the facts sink in. "Reid," Hotch sternly addressed, taking the stairs down to the level of the deck Reid was now lounging on.

Emily's mouth dropped as she broke down the stairs in a near run. Aaron wondered what she saw and let her by as she picked up the saturated cable knit sweater. Avci calmly spoke into the radio about a 'search team' and 'a medic.' "She's in the river," Emily concluded, outlining the stain of crimson poisoning the green v neck.

Aaron sighed, staring into the skyline, "There's still a chance she's alive."

This made Reid furious. Florence wasn't alive, she was dead. The signal died along with her. She was resting somewhere at the bottom of the Bophorus with not a single memory. Carter was gone and it was all his fault, like JJ had established in DC. Instead of saying anything, he stared into the clear water, trying to find a meaning in all of this.

Through the personal crisis, Avci began descending the stairs in a steady manner. With a polite clearing of the throat, the young male, no older than twenty five, announced, "Istanbul police have agreed to call on a land search if we will take over the water search."

Hotchner nodded as he handed both pieces of evidence to Avci. Before Avci was to walk away, Spencer couldn't find the strength to bite his tongue. "She has multiple scars on her abdomen," he said barely above a whisper.

"Pardon?" Aslan turned around and rose his voice to communicate to Spencer he couldn't hear him.

Emily nodded in understanding, her mouth forming an 'O.' She understood what he meant and how it played a key role in helping Florence resurface. "Dr. Reid was stating that Carter has various lacerations on her back and abdomen, and an extensive, healing, burn scar covering her stomach. Considering she is wearing a tank top at the very most, her scars are going to be visible, just as identification," Emily worded in the manner Reid couldn't at the moment.

Even though the person he trusted the most was dead, he was glad that Emily was a confidant in this process. "That's actually a good point, just in case…" Avci pondered before Spencer shot him a look that shut that idea down. Reid hadn't meant to be rude in any way. Right now, it wasn't a good idea to put 'dismembered' in a sentence with her name. "Well, the boat is coming down right now to pick you up," Aslan pointed towards the horizon with nothing left to say.

"Thank you Agent Avci," Aaron's steely, fearless voice made Spencer look like a mourning coward. Emily's phone began ringing as the speedboat broke the ripples in the river. Spencer stood up on his rickety legs once again to witness the taping off of the section of the river by two police boats' flashing lights.

As the boat halted at the dock, Reid and Hotch ventured onto the deck, which swayed with any little movements. Emily followed them at a leisurely staggering pace, eventually coming to the boat. Once crossing the boundary, and casually greeting the 'sailor' for lack of better terms, Emily hung up. With a smirk, she stared at Spencer. Reaching into his pocket, he brutally beat himself up for letting his phone turn faulty. Now, he had no control over the calls to and from Quantico, and his past experiences told him that Emily was much more honest than he was. "Apparently, a flight from Istanbul to Geneva was stopped halfway at Sarajevo International in Bosnia," Emily proclaimed, slipping the phone back in her pocket as she took a seat between Reid and Hotch.

Aaron raised his eyebrows, staring over the side of the boat to search for any sort of evidence. Down beside them, a cop on a jet ski waved and introduced himself, "I'm Jerry, if you see anything then I can get it for you," he waved.

"Thank you Jerry, will do," Emily feigned a beam. Checking his watch, Reid suspected that if Flo was still alive, she'd make it to eight o'clock this evening, and that was being optimistic. "Apparently Holly is waiting in Customs for someone in the U.S. Bosnian embassy to arrive to escort her back to the states," Emily concluded.

Hotchner sighed, training his eyes on the ground. "We're going to stay since we took up the water search," Hotch frowned. Reid took a sigh of relief even though he knew that Aaron would have to pay.

* * *

They sifted through sections of the strait, ultimately finding nothing at all. Land teams were having trouble as well. The constant bicker of the radio between international assistance and Turkish law enforcement was scarcely intercepted by American Intelligence. Istanbul, once something Reid took marvel in, became a death trap. Hot, humid, air filled their tired lungs as the three hoped to see something, but not the obvious. There was no doubt they wanted to find her, but there was a shared understanding that if one of them saw her like that, it wouldn't go over that well. "Reid, can you stop leaning over the side of the boat like that?" Emily questioned with an eye roll he caught out of the corner of his own set of peckers.

"Excuse me," Spencer moodily responded.

"Well, you constantly making the boat move isn't helping me look," Emily retorted, rubbing her temples.

With a deep scorn chiseled deep into his features, Reid was tired of the sideways glances and the doubts of why he was here setting into the two agent's minds. "Sorry, I'm just trying to find our friend," his voice slandered.

"Bickering isn't going to find her," Hotchner split the spat apart. With that, Spencer didn't dare to open his mouth again.

* * *

The sun began to sink below the horizon, turning the sky into shades of mauve that were showcasing beauty at all the wrong moments. They had covered two miles in two hours. Spencer was calculating the supposed entrance site of the bullet and the amount of time that Carter had left while gazing into the endless ripples of the strait. There was no way that Florence could've swam two miles with a bullet in her and lived.

Reid's hand fiddled with the emerald earrings still nestled in his pockets. They felt like millstones weighing him down. Flo must've really wanted him out of her life. Whether out of his protection or anything else under the sun, he sincerely hoped that she didn't leave them there because she didn't care for him. He hoped that she didn't leave them there because she never loved him more than he hoped she was alive at the moment. Currently, his thought process made him sick.

The sun incessantly reminded them of the little time they had left as it retracted further and further away. Spencer dared to read the hands on the face of his watch. Seven fifteen.

Spencer sat on the balcony of the hotel room which conveniently had a view of the Asian side of Istanbul over the strait. Red and blue flashes still reflected off of the water which gave Spencer daunting chills. Even though everyone had retired for the evening, or at least the final two hours of evening, Flo was still out there.

In those two hours, he could've been out there trying to find her. He knew that he could've been out there instead of listening to Hotch and coming back here to cry and listen to her iPod. Becoming tired of the song that he first took interest in, he began browsing through the silver and white device. Many songs were piano pieces that he already knew, some were of Victor, and then there was one that jumped out at Spencer. Literally, it was labeled 'For Spencer.'

Curious, he pressed play and tried to push the memories of their balcony talk from his mind. Once he remembered the balcony talk, he also remembered Adam, who reminded him of Tobias Hankel and a slew of other things. Things that reminded him a nice little hit would be so nice momentarily. The song didn't stand out much, just a typical guitar with an overused intro facilitating simple rhymes. The pure voice is what caught Spencer's attention. "… I won't give…" the male sung what Spencer suspected to be the hook. The singer began to finish the rest of the verse, "… up on us."

It wasn't until the next line that it brought tears to his eyes. After that, he wondered when Florence was going to show him this since it was relatively new. "Still looking up…" the singer's pure drawl couldn't captivate Spencer as much as the song Florence handpicked for him did. Those emeralds in his pockets didn't hold such a weight any more. Carter left for a reason, and while he may never know that, Spencer knew that she loved him.

She wanted him to look up. Like the song had mentioned, Spencer believed the term 'old soul' applied to her more than him. Though only twenty three, Florence had so much wisdom, wisdom that was plagued with an honor pledge and ultimatums she didn't have to have. If they lived to see each other again, Reid knew that he was going to remind her that. Additionally, he was going to tell her that he wasn't giving up either.

As the song faded, Spencer found himself completely broken up about it more than he expected. With a simple pivot of the foot and a noisy opening door, he entered the hotel room and sat on the side of the bed. Wet hair from the shower plastered his tear strewn face. Someone doesn't have to die for mourning to occur.

* * *

His newly purchased phone began ringing with an unfamiliar number. Drying up his tears the best he could, he answered the phone, "Dr. Reid," he groggily greeted.

"Hey," a female's voice sounded. It sounded so much like Flo's but Spencer knew it was Holly by the huskier undertones. For a girl, Holly had a very low voice. "It's Holly," she confirmed Spencer's hypothesis.

"Holly, you know I can't tell you any details," Spencer groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was to cry over the phone with a sixteen year old.

Holly sighed, "I know that, I just, I just want to hear from someone that loved Flo as much as I did, probably even more," her voice staggered. Spencer didn't know how to take that. He was sure that Holly would honor the secrecy of the relationship, but what if they requested transcript of cell phone calls?

_It doesn't matter_, Spencer's negative, but most likely accurate, logic commented on the situation. _She's probably dead anyways. _"It's not easier for someone who loved her less Holly," Reid bit his lip.

"Bull shit! What about Gates, Spencer? I'm sure it was easy for him," Holly exclaimed. Spencer hoped she wasn't in the airport carrying on like this. Even more so, he prayed to something that he knew shouldn't exist that she wasn't with the embassy. That would look marvelous on a suspension notice for fraternizing.

Spencer took validity in the statement. He had forgotten how much he wanted to strangle Alexander Gates the first time around, now taken it's the second, Spencer felt positively animalistic at the actions he wanted to partake in presently. Florence and her rescue were much more paramount than Alexander Gates succumbing to a fiery grave. However, it was the next task on the checklist. "You're right," he admitted.

Holly chuckled darkly. She was probably plotting her own special version of Gate's demise currently. While she was under Embassy or Customs protection, she'd be safe from herself and others. Spencer was pleased with the flexibility of the Bosnian Embassy over the Turkish sect. Carter had to pick the best place to run off to. "But you're not used to saying that one, genius," Holly jabbed.

"Florence would not want you to be bitter," Spencer reminded her, trying to reason with the stubborn girl. Garcia could have her fun with her since Juliet had officially abandoned maternal rights.

"When did you become the all knowing medium?" Holly cut into Spencer's words.

He was at a loss, not in the mood to attempt to profile the angry girl. "I've got to go," Reid fibbed.

"No you don…"

_Click._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** This might sound cocky, but I really like the way I wrote this specific chapter.

* * *

_**"Grief does not change you... It reveals you."~ John Green,"The Fault in Our Stars."**_

* * *

Even though everyone said they were sleeping in until nine, they all met in the lobby at six sharp. Reid swore that there was a mutual unspoken vow between all of them to arrive at that time and it wasn't sheer coincidence. Hotchner bit his lip like he was holding back something; needless to say that Spencer and Prentiss were all over that, profiling their Unit Chief to the most diminutive details. Several days ago, they would've agreed that they all were a tight knit family that could share anything together. Spencer now knew that that wasn't the case in the slightest.

They all stared at each other with glazed faces of fatigue that no one would own up to. It had only been a mere nine hours in Istanbul that had aged them all by three years. The only thing that sent Spencer into a fright was the fact that these glazed, aging, faces that stared—stared at strangers. Emily wasn't the one that played chess with him occasionally and introduced him to green tea; she was simply the woman with black hair and forlorn eyes resting atop of lavender shadows. Aaron wasn't the one with the bone dry sense of humor, the single father that led the team fearlessly; he was the man with eyes that sent one into a fetal position and the voice anyone would obey.

Everything was personal about this case.

As he rapped his fingers on the leather arm rest, tapping in an order from pinky to pointer finger, Spencer cleared his throat, "Are there any new updates?"

"The hair and blood tested to be Flo… Carter's," Aaron corrected himself as he let the nickname roll off of his tongue.

"Well that's good in a sense," Emily took a sip from a travel mug. People rustled behind the three strangers as if their world was perfectly fine. Spencer noticed that in their shoes, their world was perfectly fine. If he was what he studied to be, a scientist, a researcher, he'd be the same way. Crimes and evils of the world wouldn't plague him and his dreams. He'd be about as normal as he could be.

"Actually, there's something else," Aaron broke the unsaid secrecy pact. Emily let a corner of her lip twitch and fall. Spencer glanced directly an inch above Hotch's shoulder into the wall. Something told him that if he watched Aaron's reaction he'd know and completely lose it. "They found Gates last night," he spoke with a glassy demeanor.

Spencer smirked for a split second but then noticed there was more to the story. Hotchner scowled and gazed down at his shoes for answers to the questions that were rhetorical in their natures. "He tried to shoot officers keeping the investigation boundaries up on the river. Gates initial shot missed and tipped the agents. He was shot in the chest," Hotch folded his hands in frustration.

They didn't have anyone to hint to where Florence was. Their time was miniscule, if not gone. "Strauss has ordered that we leave Istanbul by eight tonight," Aaron finished his updates.

Emily pursed her lips in defiance. Her headstrong will had gotten her on Strauss's bad side a long while ago. From what Spencer knew about Emily- she didn't care what side of people she was on, she was going to do what she thought was right. "Our colleague, an Agent…"

Reid couldn't mentally take it anymore. If Flo was dead, she was dead. Emily had no right to be toying with the strings of hope when they were severed. "She's probably dead Em," Spencer mumbled.

Blinking, Prentiss turned to look Reid dead in the eye and didn't dare fidget away from the intense glare them shared. Spencer wasn't scared, but he knew better than to make Emily any more agitated. "Of all people Reid, I'd expect you to want to have solid evidence that she is gone," Prentiss slandered.

"Enough, I'm telling Aslan about our stipulation and I'm going to search until we have to leave, it's your choice to what you do," Aaron announced as he peeled himself out of the leather sectional across from the two feuding parties.

* * *

The sun didn't paint Istanbul like a warm toned watercolor during this sunset. Spencer wasn't sure exactly how he was going to be able to force himself to leave this place. He was leaving behind someone he couldn't dream of living without. Flo wouldn't have stopped at anything to bring him home, and what was he doing? He was sitting here, about a ten minute drive from the airport, legs hanging over the concrete siding to this section of the Istanbul strait.

Had Florence been here? Did she see how harrowingly beautiful this place was, did she still see how gorgeous the nonexistent sun masqueraded the Earth in the uncharacteristic blue? Spencer picked another white rose from the stack of fifty he purchased at the flower market on the Asian side. With a quick rotation of the stem, he dropped the petals into the water to follow the other roses he had decapitated.

If it was true she was dead, he wanted her to have something right with the burial. This was his sick version of a casket spray. Footsteps were heard behind him, and the woman with the black hair joined him, sitting on the opposite side of the roses and staring down the strait. Reid did the same, seeing that they were at the point where the channel connected with the sea. Spencer chose another ivory rose and twisted the flower. "Hotch said you'd be here," Emily cleared her voice as Spencer let go of the petals.

"He was right," Spencer frowned. He knew why Hotch even couldn't care at this point. He'd witnessed countless deaths, a majority of which that were so unbearably close, and Spencer was melting down over one. It just so happens that this one was possibly the closest person he'd ever been with his whole life.

Reid thought over what he had uttered within the four walls of his mind and was outraged. When did he become concerned with the number of deaths and not the loss of the person? Florence wasn't just a number. "Why are you doing that?" Emily questioned in the most polite voice she could muster.

He respected that she tried and that she cared enough to come down here and sit with him. Even though she was being quite the nuisance, it was nice someone fought the urges of apathy. "I'm torn, that's why."

"Don't talk my ear off Reid," Emily chuckled, reaching over Spencer's lap to seize a rose. As she twisted her palm and scattered the innocent petals into the dirty river, she queried, "Tell me why."

He exhaled loudly, handing Emily a handful of roses to toss into the river so the currents could wisp them anywhere they pleased. "I'm torn because if it was me, Flo would've stayed behind and made sure that I, or my body, got home safe. But if she was here right now, she'd want me to go home, because let's face it Emily—Istanbul is driving me mad," Reid admitted, tossing the remaining stems out from his clutches.

Shaking her head, Emily decapitated another flower, Spencer let his emotions calm down before attacking another stem. "Istanbul isn't driving you mad," Prentiss pressed.

Spencer breathed in and out slowly, each breath stinging his throat and the lump forming there. He felt comfortable crying in front of Emily, but he refrained from doing such, mostly because he wasn't sure what he was feeling. It wasn't hard to fight the tears. In fact, there was a sick peace in the constant crunch of life being destroyed and scattered in the river. "Besides Haley, I haven't mourned anyone," Reid's voice cracked as he scattered the petals from his sticky palms. The last time he did this, he tossed red roses from the balcony of a Texas hotel with Flo—symbolizing her new beginning.

Reid noticed the symbolism here, though he didn't believe in fate, he picked up on the similarities and the deterring meanings of the two events. This symbolized his new beginning, one without the white rose, beauty, playing any role in it. At least if fate existed, it didn't lie. "It's nothing like the textbook definition, that's for sure," Emily's eyebrows raised and fell as her steely eyes peered across the strait. A loud blast of noise and a gust of wind rustling their clothing as a plane took off from the airport a little ways away. In an hour, they'd be required to report to the tarmac, to leave Istanbul behind.

"What's it like then?" Reid yelled over the commotion that screwed with the serenity of their conversation. Not only that, he found it somewhat rude to Flo.

As the noise faded, Prentiss's face set into a distant pain. It wasn't something Spencer should've asked so casually, and at the moment he didn't care. "No one mourns the same way each time they lose someone, and no one mourns like anyone else," Emily answered. Reid knew she was right.

Somewhere inside of him wanted her to be wrong. He wanted to be able to forget Florence as soon as he stepped foot in Quantico. Spencer wanted her desk to be bare, nothing there to remind her that she once inhabited the chair. Even though his life would be so different without her, he wished her existence would simply cease to keep reminders, Spencer knew he couldn't take that every day. It was enough that he thought about her every second of every moment and how he'd never be able to talk to her again, but to have physical reminders that he gave up.

Spencer gave up. Gulping, he let several tears fall. Florence _never_ gave up on him.


	6. Chapter 6

_**"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."~ J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

* * *

Spencer was tearing apart the last of the roses in silence alongside Emily when his phone rang. Sluggishly removing it from his pocket, he flipped it open and greeted the caller with a half-hearted, "Hello."

"Reid, do you have access to the SUV?" Aaron Hotchner's steady voice leapt several subtle octaves as the question rang in Spencer's ears.

Emily shared a concerned glance with the genius as he stared towards the merging points of the two bodies of water. "Yes, is there anything wrong?" Spencer fumbled with the phone, turning on the speaker option so whatever news was divulged he wouldn't have to repeat it. He probably shouldn't have asked if anything was wrong because nothing seemed to feel right.

He took a rose and wrung its petals away with a clenched fist while Hotch was speaking to someone else besides him. Whoever it was had a thick accent and the faint words made Emily's eyes grow wide. Spencer grew anxious; this was the moment he'd been waiting around fifty-seven hours for. Sirens blasted in the speaker as a loud door shutting silenced them. "No, no, no, they found her," Aaron reassured Reid. Before Spencer's heart had the chance to leap, the sullen chief added, "She's in really bad shape, but they found her."

"What's the address of the hospital?" Emily's smile crept up her once grimacing face. Aaron rattled off some address that Emily typed into her smart phone.

* * *

Sun broke through the window and woke Reid up. He was curled up in a reception area with eyes on him, studying his demeanor. Mostly, they glared at his badge, proudly displaying the FBI's logo. Flo had said something about that, the first day she came back into his life. Something about it being, '… A shiny target.' With all these fearful and animosity driven gazes, he found that the statement was in perfect context.

Emily was next to him in a chair, flipping through some generic Turkish magazine. She had gone to sleep earlier than he did; hence, she woke up earlier. Rubbing his eyes, he located Hotch at the snack machine. Flo was right, it was wrong that it felt too natural to be in a hospital, they had to stop meeting like this.

"You're up," Prentiss chuckled, flicking the glossy pages.

Reid yawned, positioning himself so he could sit straight up. He couldn't remember ever being informed on Florence's condition. The only assurance he got was from Aaron in the back of that ambulance, if he considered that assurance in any way, shape, or form. "How's she doing?" Spencer asked with caution.

With another casual turning of the magazine page, Emily retracted her lip, snarled between two teeth. Spencer's trained eyes picked out her ravaged nails, something wasn't right. With a deep sigh, Emily admitted, "They're running blood tests."

"It's not good then?" Spencer raised his eyebrows.

"They hope it's just shock and minor wound infection," Prentiss gave Reid a look that told him that it wasn't good. Hotch came back with a heavy face. Phone in his hand, Spencer suspected he made a call back to Quantico. He wasn't leaving.

He exhaled, folding his hands in his lap as his head slumped. The energy bar purchased from the snack machine now sat uselessly beside him. Reid's stomach grumbled, it had been so long since he had anything substantial, "Garcia, Rossi, JJ, and Holly are boarding a plane in Dulles," he informed. His talking did nothing to inhibit the awkwardness, "Derek is coming after he finishes paperwork with the embassy."

Prentiss grimaced and Spencer did his very best to not show any emotion. They sat like strangers once more. Hotch glued to his Blackberry, Emily enticed by Vogue, and Reid staring straight ahead with her headphones over his ears. Why was he sitting here? She'd eventually die and he would've gotten his hopes up for nothing.

Needless to say he was chasing himself in circles and circles didn't get anyone anything. Spencer declared that his life never was a circle, and it wasn't going to go in that direction if he had any say. Hours passed before anyone passed the waiting area of the ICU. With three trips to the snack machine under his belt, and a somewhat full stomach, a tanned male in a white coat approached the three.

Reid removed the headset, "… Florence Carter?" the man spoke with a heavy accent. If they were at a public hospital Emily would have to do all of the talking, but thankfully, the FBI decided to house Flo in the best private hospital Istanbul could offer, for free courtesy the US Embassy. Emily nodded, giving the man room to speak. "Yes, the blood tests came back… Along with the X-rays," the doctor mused. "Why don't we go up to my office?"

They all nodded, gathering their things sprawled to a neat chaos on their corner of the ICU. Spencer had a very bad feeling about all of this. As they followed the young doctor up winding, modern, staircases, Reid couldn't help but wonder where she was now. Those emeralds turned back into stones as they weighed him down with every pace he took. The fleet of four strode down a hallway and entered a door with a plaque reading, 'Ahmet Bahara, Tıp Doktor,' which under that had the English translation of, 'MD.'

Taking a seat next to Emily, he nearly held his breath as the Doctor began plastering X-rays on the screen. "As you can see here," he gestured towards her left side, "The bullets didn't make entry, but the first one deeply grazed her side, while the second one came and intensified the injury."

"I'm not trying to be insensitive, but how did she live?" Emily blurted out. She had a point.

Dr. Bahara reached deep into his pockets with a gloved hand. Out fell two evidence bags with bloody gauze packaging inside. Hotch reached for the plastic bag and flipped the pouch. "It just about saved her life," Bahara confessed. Of course it did. The FBI would love to know that one of their rookie agents could apply Quikclot. Aaron remembered that he couldn't.

"So the test results?" Emily pushed forward.

Spencer was jealous of how well she could compartmentalize. If he had half of that skill, he wouldn't be such a slave to his emotions. "Yes," Dr. Bahara stalled. With a click or two of the computer, he sighed, folding his hands on the desk to deliver whatever tone of the news awaited. "She's tested positive for Sepsis in conjunction with MRSA," Ahmet frowned; turning away to scroll down the computer screen as if there was anything worse. Sepsis was life threatening. Reid knew from this point that Flo would most likely not leave Istanbul alive.

"The MRSA isn't a resistant strain, but it's in the blood," Ahmet divulged, "And we throw in Sepsis, possible pneumonia from the fluid on the lungs, it makes treatment hard to manage." Now that Spencer squinted at the illuminated screen, he observed the outline of a mass in the lungs.

Spencer swore he felt his heart stop, this was it. Acute lung failure was what would happen next. Carter would die fighting for every last breath. "She's lucid now, but she's surely not what she used to be," Dr. Ahmet forlornly stated.

"What does treatment entail?" Prentiss interrogated.

Rubbing his temples, Reid wished to tell Emily she needed to shut up. Every question he would've asked came out of mouth. Then, Dr. Bahara would answer those questions that Spencer didn't want to hear. Florence had to be okay, fate, or whatever Reid believed in nowadays, owed her that. "Antibiotics that treat the MRSA, pneumonia, and Sepsis, fluids, morphine, and other comfort measures should she need it," he answered.

Spencer excused himself politely and fled the room. There had to be somewhere in Istanbul where he could forget about everything that was happening. He didn't let himself get that far though, as he slumped in the waiting room again, his chest heaved, and the knee still recuperating from the swim ached. Comfort measures would be convenient for him at the moment if they didn't imply death.

Why Flo? Someone who is just realizing how rewarding life is has to be ripped away from it. Along with Holly, she's going to be a wreck when Florence dies. Holly has no place to go as an emancipated youth. All she can healthily hope for is a stipulation in the will. Willing Carter to go back home alive is entirely too ambitious. "You alright?" Emily's voice rang in his eardrums again. How long had it been since he ran off?

He shook his head. Reid would never be alright. "She wants to talk to you, you know?" Prentiss casually threw out there. Why'd she have to want to talk? Flo had the knack of making Spencer do things he didn't want to because a mere five minutes later he was waiting outside the curtain.

Before he stepped inside, he listened to her frail voice ask in a near silent tone, "Who's the lamb?" Florence began to go into a coughing fit intertwined with another sound that was a cry of pain. It was understandable, since each battle for oxygen most likely tore at her side. Spencer gave a tiny knock as he entered the room with a faint smile for her sake.

She appeared to be a misplaced body. A person of that color belonged at a morgue. He felt the tears rush to his eyes as the blurred picture before him still had a sick clarity. "Spencer," she beamed, not being able to help the dry coughs following.

"Fl-Flo-Florence," he managed, sniffling. It was going to be hard to stay strong, but God damnit, Spencer knew it was time to be a man already and be here for Flo.

"I know, it's alright," she sighed, taking an extended blink that shouldn't have lasted as long as it should have. Florence physically struggled to keep her head turned over to Spencer's side. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the emeralds and lovingly slipped them into her ears. A warm smirk fought to remain on her face, "I'm not afraid of dying anymore Spencer," she hid her face in her pillow, continuing to cough repeatedly.

Reid shook his head and began stroking the back of her hand. It sent shivers up his spine, chilling the pad of his thumb. He found himself asking what Emily had, even though it was ever so rude, how'd she even live? "You're not dying," Spencer reassured her with a lie.

Having not stopped the spell of hacking cough, Flo made a sound that apparently alerted the nurse from the station and caused the woman to run through the hallway. With a quick motion, the woman cut between her and Spencer, supporting Carter's neck and yelling, "I need some assistance in here," in a thick accent. Whipping her head to Spencer, the woman politely snarled, "Wait outside, boylu adam."

Obeying the woman's commands, he slumped into a chair in the waiting room beside Emily. Prentiss, noticing his speedy trip back raised her eyebrows, expecting an explanation, "Emily, what does boylu adam mean?"

"Tall man," she snickered.


	7. Chapter 7

_**"What a strange thing a man is; and what a stranger thing a woman." ~Lord Byron.**_

* * *

Flo was propped up in the hospital bed, something Spencer didn't want to have to witness again. Her face spelled out pain until her eyes met his. Reid witnessed her bright smile, something weak compared to normal, but something proving strength beyond supernatural considering her conditions. Would she be better if she hadn't been shot in the river? Would the bacteria cease to exist in her wound? Spencer didn't focus on that because it wasn't reality.

It had happened and whatever happened next would happen. There was nothing in his power that he could do to save Florence. "Spencer," she mustered, eyes twinkling. The simple glimmer of the organ made his heartstrings pull in several directions. This was most likely one of their last conversations.

"Flo," Reid cursed the cracks in his voice. He ventured into the room and sat down in the uncomfortable red chair. Carter had several IV drips attached to her arm, tubes up her nose, a heart monitor beating somewhat steady, but not steady enough to maintain a flicker of hope. Spencer was starting to reluctantly agree with her about death.

"Who's the lamb?" Florence questioned. A gossamer sheen of tears formed in her eyes.

Spencer racked his brain. Sepsis did cause patients to become mentally unwell. "I don't know what you mean by that," Reid answered, taking her hand to hold. Chills ran up his arm making his hair stand parallel to the walls. She even felt dead.

"Alex said he killed the lamb, who died?" she urged, squeezing his hand at a terrifying pressure.

His stomach twisted. This wasn't a mental instability, but his answer would probably send her on one. Flo deserved to know what happened. She deserved to know the lamb really was unadulterated and pure, however, Spencer knew she didn't want to face it. He was never one to believe in the supernatural, but maybe Flo was hanging onto the cables of life long enough to know Holly was okay. Spencer knew it was greedy, but if that were the case, he'd never let Florence know. "I'll let you think about it," Carter sighed.

Spencer took a deep breath in the oxygen deprived room. "I love you, Flo," he refused to blink.

Florence smiled, once again showing teeth, "I love you too, Spencer, too much," she heaved another cough through her throat. Her hand began to shake in Spencer's clutches, trembling with each shallow breath she took. "But, I'm taking the secret to the grave, you don't have to," she rasped between wheezing breaths. Gasping, she spoke another forced line that was sincere honesty on her part, "That's why you need to move on."

Reid knew he had to take it to the grave as well. No one would understand it, their superior complex. Spencer knew that he'd never find anyone else like Florence Adrian. He knew that no one else on the planet could accept him in the same manner she did. Something in that statement gave him comfort; he knew that he'd never have to worry about Florence being replaced. "You're going to be alright," Spencer reassured her, "You're going to be alright and I'm always going to love you."

"You can cry, I hate when Hotch and Emily come in here and hold back tears, I know I'm going to die," Flo rotated her stiff neck to reveal salty tracks running down her jaw line. Spencer blinked and his own rain littered his cheeks simultaneously.

"Why'd you run away?" Reid sought the pressing question originating from his misguided intentions.

Flo sighed, turning her head back to look at the ceiling. "You wouldn't understand," Carter grimaced.

"You looked me in the face and you lied to me, tell me how I don't understand that?" Reid queried in a tone that shocked himself. He knew all of the stress wasn't good for Flo, but if she was really going to die, she needed to know. "What happened to not giving up Flo?" Spencer raised his voice the slightest octave.

Coughing with tears forming puddles on the sides of the pillow, Reid hated himself for asking her those questions so soon. She was going to die now because of his misuse of words. As the fit receded, she managed, "Because I couldn't serve my purpose when Holly, Eliza, Victor, you, the team, and Harrison were on the hit list. I needed to remove myself and hide Holly."

Reid gave her a long, hard, look. She promised him not to be noble. Flo promised him she wouldn't give up. And if this wasn't the ultimate betrayal, the stab in the back, the last minute change in alliance, there was no other. Still, the love for the near death girl raged on. Love was when you could still stand to be there and suffer. Love was the most illogical, abstract thing that would never be defined. Death didn't make Spencer love Florence more, but made him notice to hidden notes of intensity they had, but was never revealed under normal circumstances. Love would be the death of who Spencer was for certain. "I'm sorry, I'm going to pay for hurting you soon," Florence sobbed.

"I didn't mean it like that," Spencer rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, "You're not going to pay for something I was rude enough to bring up."

Flo shook her head and iterated clearly, "Who died?"

* * *

His legs dangled off of the side of the ledge. Silence couldn't drive away the visions from his head like he had hoped. Spencer cursed the interrupting noises from the epicenter of Istanbul. He was jealous of each person; they weren't losing someone like he was.

Removing a yellow rose from the newly purchased bundle, he ripped off the petals and watched the river take them away. Just twelve hours ago he had done the same thing with a different color flora. This time though, instead of speculating Florence was suffering, he knew she was. The certain heaviness in his heart was becoming quite irksome. He'd been toting around the barbell in his chest for days now, and relief denied any hints to its whereabouts.

The team had arrived with Holly and Reid couldn't stand to face them any longer. It only took five minutes before he found himself back at the flower market, purchasing things to destroy. He didn't hate his team, he didn't hate Holly or Flo, and he simply couldn't bare himself, much less other people. Spencer now knew why Carter fled; it was easier than taking the beast and confronting it head on.

A woman had sat next to him in his time of thought. She wore a plain button up shirt with her snowflake-resembling blonde hair retained by a navy bandana. Her lips were painting red, much like Flo's. Clearing her throat, the girl coughed silently, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you," she spoke in a light accent.

"Well, obviously not enough to not do it," Spencer harshly replied. He hoped his callous nature would send her away.

Not ever. The girl chuckled like it was a joke. Spencer frowned; he really didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, or ever. Blondie took her tattooed arm and tucked a strand of hair in the correct position awkwardly. "A dark part of me wants to destroy something beautiful," she quoted prophetically.

Spencer noticed the line from the book Flo insisted upon him reading. Chuck Palahniuk said that. "Does that apply to you?" the girl raised her eyebrows.

"No, I guess I want to remember something beautiful," he sighed.

"Oh, I just saw you out here this morning with the black haired woman, and I was curious, I guess I can be on my way now," the girl stood up, her long legs comparing to that of Spencer's. She was only about 5'7 though once he got a better look. Curiosity teemed at his insides as she came and was about to leave like she had no impact.

In fact, this girl made him think. She spoke like she knew she was right and knew what was wrong. Call it confidence or supernatural knowing, but Spencer only believed the first part. "My name's Spencer," he tried to get the intriguing young woman to stay. Why would a young woman be in Istanbul if she wasn't running away?

"Anouk," she grinned, "You actually want to talk to me now?"

Spencer rolled his eyes, becoming annoyed by the banter she was trying to conduct, "If you want to."

Anouk plopped down at a comfortable distance and took a flower like she was a friend rather than a stranger. "What are you trying to remember?" her voice mimicked that of Turkish dialect. She wasn't native and she wasn't foreign at the same time.

"Let's talk about you instead."

"Alright," Anouk sarcastically contorted. Beheading the rose, she tossed the yellow petals of sunshine into the cold river.

Spencer eyed the tattoo on her forearm, wondering if it was real, and what the symbol meant. "That a tattoo?" he posed, trying to get his thoughts out of the four walls of his head.

"A temporary one," Anouk answered, scattering more of the petals. Anouk took her precious time with the process, almost in the sense of savoring the moment, "I'm twenty five, I was born somewhere in Norrland, Sweden, and when I was five my parents died. I was adopted by an American family and separated from my brother who was adopted by a different family," she divulged in Spencer.

"So you're trying to find him?" Reid interrupted.

Anouk grasped another flower and ripped the petals viciously. "No, he joined the American Army, got himself killed in Ankara," she bitterly recollected, "The day I turned eighteen I applied for visa, and I've been here since."

Reid bowed his head in reverence. Anouk knew exactly what he was coming from. There was something that made him want to tell her, a compelling force, but she had enough to deal with probably. Reliving a death daily for six years wasn't healthy in the slightest. "And you? Why are you here?" her dialect reaching tones that cut through him like razors, "I swear, this country is a curse."

"So why do you stay?" Spencer recoiled. He wasn't growing fond of the brash mannerisms of Anouk. She was unpredictably blissful, a trait he despised, and a trait he was jealous of.

Even though she had seen the evils of the world and was bitter, she could still reserve happiness. "The same reason you do," Anouk breathily chuckled. Tossing the stem in the clarity of the blue strait, she sighed, "We don't have a home anymore."

"You don't know me," Spencer defended himself, plucking solitary petals from the flower. Tension was a brick wall between the butting heads of the parties. Animosity raged whole heartedly in Spencer's shattered organ.

Anouk rolled her eyes, fiddling in her bag for something. With a condescending scorn her lips formed words Spencer took a liking to, "Why don't you tell me then? I only know your actions, Spencer."

Reverse psychology was Spencer's worst foe. He knew he'd never be able to sleep if he didn't take up for himself; it was a flaw he loathed with all of his heart. "I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, previously called the Behavioral Sciences Unit, founded in…"

"Summarize, I know you can articulate better than that," Anouk began jotting down something in a notebook. Spencer studied what she was writing, and the perceptive girl caught it, "It's just my address, Secret Agent Spencer," she hummed, "Tell me why you came and why you're still here," Anouk demanded. Reid found himself naturally focusing on her breathtakingly lilac hued irises.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Too excited to keep anything back. I want to get this over with completely since it's been done for about a week and I have itchy fingers. I need this out of my way so I can focus on Nano and singing. Enjoy!

* * *

_**"I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is." ~Vladimir Nabokov.**_

* * *

"You are very complicated Spencer," Anouk tapped her fingers on the pavement. Lights around them reflected onto the water, and the city had only grew in noise. "Att skiljas är att dö en smula," she communicated in a Turkish influenced Swedish language. Spencer gave her a glance that consisted of a quirked eyebrow. Laughing, Anouk's voice hit all the right octaves, sending Spencer up a wall. He hated himself for bonding with her.

Reid loved Florence. Florence loved Reid. Florence is dying. Spencer was vile and disgusting enough to go find a replacement for the irreplaceable woman fighting for every last breath. He couldn't help it, Anouk made him more established with his inner most thoughts. Most of all, Spencer disgustingly relished in the fact that he could hurt Anouk because she was a stranger, and Anouk didn't seem to be bothered by it. "It's a Swedish proverb that means 'To part is to die a little,'" she clarified.

Very calming, Spencer remarked to himself. "You only died a little, there's still a lot ahead of you," Anouk tried to snap the untimely saying into context.

"You have the strangest personality," he blurted out.

"Thanks," Anouk blushed bright red, nervously giggling.

Spencer returned the blush, embarrassed at what she perceived as an insult, "Like book character strange, nothing bad…"

Anouk grinned, "I wasn't offended." That toothy grin reminded him of Flo's, but everything seemed to do that. His anger still hadn't subsided; it just found a new target—himself.

Here he was, trying to replace dying girl he swore himself to. It was not fair to Anouk or Florence, both unique and scarred in their own way, confidant in who they were and not who they were to become. There wasn't a rose for Spencer to kill now. He didn't have something beautiful to destroy. And now, he realized just how close their faces were, and just how sick he felt. Reid immediately jerked his face back. This would not happen. "No, I'm not doing that," he callously proposed.

Anouk noticed what had occurred and flushed a pale color of white. The night made her stand out like a star with her pale features untouched by the sun. Spencer couldn't deny she was beautiful. Beauty roughly compromises ten percent of attraction and ninety percent of personality. She definitely could cover the rest of the ninety percent. "I'm sorry," Anouk bit her lip.

"I don't want to… Hurt you in any way… And I don't want to hurt her," Spencer stared once more into the dark water.

She nodded, handing him a sheet of paper, "I want to write to you Spencer, would you?" she pushed the pen into his hands. Scrawling as neatly as possible, he left his address, phone, and email for the wise star. Spencer handed the notebook back her and she exchanged a piece of paper with him. Anouk gave him a feigned smile, "I don't want to be keeping you up," she forlornly admitted.

"No, you're not," Spencer exhaled, trying to figure out what to do with himself. He knew that he wanted to go talk to Flo, since this would probably be the last night she'd be in a good mind, and he wanted to feel the security with the gentle Anouk. Compromise had to be made, and Spencer chose the right thing to do. "If you'd like too, uh, I really want to, you know? Talk at least one more time before I have to go?" Reid nervously stammered.

"Sure, there's a small place across from the hospital, I can meet you there at seven?" Anouk flubbed on her English syntax, but Spencer didn't care.

"Sure, I'll see you then, Anouk," Spencer pulled himself up to his feet, giving Anouk a hand.

* * *

Holly sat beside Florence's bedside, according to Garcia she hadn't left since they arrived three hours earlier. Something told Spencer she wouldn't leave either. As Spencer leaned up against the frame of the curtain Flo motioned for Holly to leave and give them privacy. With a sullen, unwilling understanding, Holly sulked into the hallway while Spencer shut the curtain behind him.

Reid scanned over the hourly check up clip board. She'd suddenly regressed since he'd been gone. Her oxygen had decreased even though she was breathing through a tube; her Glasgow Coma Scale was trickling down to a moderate coma, and she blended into the ivory sheets like a chameleon. "Spencer," she croaked, unable to sound like herself any longer.

"I'm sorry Flo, for my episode, I need to let it go," he answered, not feeling any sort of notion to cry. Maybe that phrase took on a different connotation. He realized he had to let go.

"Who's the lamb Spencer?" she hushed, a smile forming at her lips.

"Harrison died, Florence, Alex got to him before we could," Spencer coolly replied, sitting down in a chair to hold her hand. Sobs broke in her infected chest, heaving up and down with coughs and tears, Flo breathed more than she could have in the past hour due to the spike in activity. Reid smoothed down her brittle hair, a few of the dull tresses breaking off in his fingertips.

She wheezed, settling herself down, "Not him, why him?" her eyes snapped completely open as they stared at the beige ceiling tiles. Spencer felt the strongest wave of sadness as he realized he was in Flo's position asking the same question. "Victor, Victor's probably…" she exhaled, pulling herself together.

"It's alright," Spencer clasped her dying hands between his, "Don't get worked up about it, you need your strength."

Carter sufficed several more crystalline tears, highlighted by the unforgiving fluorescence. "I love you, but I can't fight forever," she exhaled laboriously.

Spencer squeezed her hand harder, distressed when she didn't reply to the stimulus; he stared at her lively eyes. The green orbs fit the person he knew, not the dying ghost. Amazingly, her eyes were still as bright as the emeralds in her ears. "I love you too," he replied.

"You need to find something for me, alright?" Flo managed, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. "It's at the home in Istanbul… Papers, spike…" she struggled to breathe. Spencer's mind was racing. A spike? What would a spike have anything to do with a paper? "Spy spike," Flo's eyes grew wide.

Reid knew exactly what she was talking about. "I'll get it for you, just rest alright?" Spencer urged her.

* * *

"This is the place right?" Spencer demanded harshly of Holly. The angry girl nodded. With a violent turn inside of the white tiled driveway he saw the solar lights flash on. He'd have to find the spike. Who knew that Florence was one to make a dead drop in the middle of nowhere? After the car skidded to a halt, Spencer leapt from his seat and began scavenging the yard with his eyes.

He began ripping up the lights one by one, trying to see which one was the spike. When none of them showed to be the lucky container, he turned to Holly who gave him a discerning look, "What the hell is your problem?!" she exclaimed.

"I'm looking for a black spike like this," Spencer's heart raced as he picked up the garden light, "… It's a dead drop spike."

"What the hell does that mean?" Holly exasperated. Spencer shook his head, beginning to examine the bushes. Flo had to hide it well, she probably had a special place, but he couldn't think like her now. Reid was sure of the fact he couldn't think. Did he even want to know what was in the spike? Would his discoveries be Pandora's Box, releasing evil onto the world, plaguing the innocence that was somewhat extant. "I'm calling Penelope, or someone," the teenager rolled her eyes.

Spencer shook his head in defiance, "No, I know what I'm talking about."

"She's insane Spencer, don't you of all people get it?!" Holly burst. All anger that could be harbored was released tenfold. Her body quivered under the influence of rage. "Your life isn't the fucking Italian Job!" Holly continued to ramble. Spencer took the keys and began to unlock the front door. There was a two story courtyard in the center of the home, a porch lining the second level of the traditional ottoman home. If there was any chance he could find the spike, a distance wouldn't be a bad approach. But he didn't need that, he saw three of the spikes lying behind a rose bush.

As he dove in, he cursed the amounts of thorns, roses just weren't his thing. Nevertheless, the important thing was whatever was in these spikes. These would have to be really vital in order for Flo to hide them in this manner. As each of the three black spikes flew out from behind him, his hopes multiplied. They'd finally get to the bottom of it all, maybe Florence would prosper in the good news, maybe they could all fly home and Spencer would man up and give Flo a good life. Maybe, just maybe, she'd let him. The distinct sound of screeching tires made Reid hurry up in the task.

The sound of Rossi and Emily's footsteps were heard as they walked in, "Reid?" Emily called.

Rossi was the one to find him, "So you're taking up gardening?" he sarcastically questioned.

"No, Carter told me something about papers in a spy spike, and I found these," Spencer bundled the dead-drop spikes in his arms. The tanned man's mouth dropped as Reid exited the courtyard and ventured into the kitchen of the home. He spread out each spike and cracked open the first one. Like she promised, out fell papers of all varieties, checks, deeds, passports, anything she could find on Alexander Gates.

Rossi unsealed the next spike and an unseen picture surfaced in Reid's mind. As he skimmed over this paper trail, he realized it was none other than Hawthorne Orvis. "She profiled each one of her abductors," David held up a piece of loose leaf paper found on the bottom of the stack. Spencer hastily clutched the piece and immediately recognized her handwriting. Who was in the third spike?

By this time, Emily and Holly had joined the men as Reid's hands clutched around the final spike. Unscrewing the top, a sickly familiar picture emerged, "Juliet," he whispered sickly.

Holly's mouth simply dropped in shock. Her own mother, Florence's sister, had arranged for Florence to die. "We need to call Hotch," Rossi himself picked up the photograph of Juliet and Florence hugging on the day of the elder's high school graduation. Reid knew that now, even though he knew the truth, it didn't make things any better. Florence needed to protect Holly at the end of it all.

It's funny how the fate he didn't believe in came into effect sometimes. Even more ironic was the divine intervention that he couldn't allow himself to comprehend was constantly channeled through Flo. Sometimes, she was so unholy and completely and utterly clueless. Then, on these near-death occasions that they both experienced too often, she became determined and focused. Maybe one couldn't believe in destiny or divine intervention, maybe it was an answer, he mused.

Spencer stared at the ceiling as the trio exited without him. It was one of those things he didn't want to know because he probably couldn't handle it. But that's like telling a fire to bring life to the earth. Reid knew he would always ask these questions and get the same answers from himself and others.


	9. Chapter 9

**_"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all barriers within yourself that you have built against it." ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi, Persian Poet._**

* * *

"Just be warned, she's taken a turn," a plump, but still very attractive, woman calmly explained to Spencer. Spencer knew that Florence couldn't be doing but so well nowadays. The woman didn't leave yet, but maternally placed a set of fingers casually on Spencer's forearm, "But she always lights up around you," she smiled.

Reid couldn't help but sequester a small grin. He entered the room to see Florence. Instead of participating, he observed like he had done with his life before he really got to know Florence Carter, and the nurse was right. As soon as he walked into the room, a weak grimace painted the face of the ghost, "Hey."

"Hey," Reid croaked as he sat down next to her and took her hand into his. Once again, it felt like a corpse. The temperature brought him back to the memory of his Uncle's funeral, and how his mother put his hand on his dead uncle's hand telling Spencer that, 'the longer you touch, the longer the memories last.' Spencer thought it was bull then and he still held that opinion. "I have your iPod, I heard you were asking for that," Reid suppressed a yawn. He had gotten three hours of sleep and had woken up to be with her.

"'A Long December,' I want you to listen to that with me," she twitched her fingers. Spencer drew the inference she was attempted to squeeze his fingers, but she was far too weak to do so. He scrolled through the illuminated screen and turned the speakers to a comfortable listening fashion. The song talked about death, at least that's what Spencer thought. The line, 'All oysters, and no pearls' tripped him up the emotional stairwell.

As the song ended, he turned the iPod off. "You hear the part about the 'light attaching the girl'?" Florence mustered, trying to form sentences. With a snag of her lower lip, she made the twitchy notion repetitively, "It's going to happen to you one day."

Spencer shook his head, "It's already happened," he told her.

Florence tried to chuckle, but it sounded like several raspy exhalations. Reid held onto her hand tightly, as if he were trying to squeeze life back into her, but he really only caught himself trying to remember her. That raised scar whitening over the exterior of her index finger, the way her cuticles were always a ragged mess, and the way a ring should've laid over her fourth finger. And Spencer sickly wasn't imagining the one Victor gave her, but the one he wanted to buy her at the jewelers but was reminded of the provocative nature of their deviating relationship, besides, he'd never have the courage to ask her. "Then I pity you, Spencer Reid. Because I may love you a lot, but I'm not all I'm cracked up to be," she iterated clearly.

Spencer shook his head. She was more than met the eyes, though her looks made a first impression of their own. "Tell me what you're thinking, it might be the last time," Flo continued with her breathy chortles.

"You're more than you're cracked up to be, you're unconventionally beautiful, and I really wished I had the balls to ask you to marry me when the chance came," Spencer sputtered, realizing how angry he sounded in hindsight.

Florence sighed and Spencer knew he shouldn't have said that, but he wasn't running away like he did last time. It was time to stop and listen to what Carter said, because she was right, it was probably the last things she'd utter to him. "I would've said yes, considering all of this wasn't happening, I'd go someplace else to work," she forced a smile up her face to convey her real emotions.

"If you make it out of this," Spencer's remaining fragments of reason rang, _fat chance_, much to his distaste. "Will you?"

"If I make it out of this Spencer, it's going to be in a casket," she sarcastically quipped.

"Will you?" he pleaded once again.

For the first time in days, Florence's eyes snapped all the way open at alert, "I will, but only if you promise me you're going to move on if I don't make it."

Spencer, weighing his options, knew that she wouldn't stop protesting that. "If it will make you happy, I will find someone. But I'm always going to love you," Reid vowed.

"I know you'll always love me," her grin only widened, "And, I know I'm asking a lot, but no drugs," she hazily said.

His heart raced. How'd she know? Who told her? Spencer flushed with embarrassment and anger towards the betraying third party. He was about to ask these questions but noticed her peaceful demeanor found in the requiem of dreamy unconsciousness. Florence had gone back to sleep, steadily breathing to the best of her ability.

* * *

Spencer felt no guilt in leaving for the coffee shop in the morning; Florence had made improvement and was breathing better. She was still sleeping when he left. He managed to sleep in the chair all night and hold her hand simultaneously, which consequently made any woman at the nurses' station gush over, 'Uzun boylu adam,' or rather, 'the tall man,' in English.

He paced across the street and saw Anouk already seated outside under an umbrella with two intricately oriental designed cobalt blue and white cups atop of mismatching pastel pink saucers. She wore another solid black bandana in attempts to keep her extremely thick blonde hair from hassling her. A pretty sundress adorned her pear shaped frame. Spencer really hoped she hadn't miraculously taken liking to him; she didn't deserve to be a rebound.

"Good morning," her thickly accented low voice complimented her beam, "You said you were a coffee person, so I got you a mug," she grinned.

Reid took his seat, staring at the radiant girl across from him. He still noticed her beauty even though he didn't romantically love her like he did Flo. "How much did it cost?" Spencer questioned, not willing to sacrifice the ways he was taught, which entailed, 'Never have a woman wait on you. Never allow a woman to pay for your meal. And always try to pay for her meal.'

"Free, if you bring your own cups and sugar and such, Tito gives it out for free," Anouk beamed as she sipped on her cup. Like she needed anymore caffeine, her noticeably violet eyes were already bugging out of her skull in the strangest, but certainly attractive, way. "You look troubled," Anouk concluded as Spencer nearly drained a half of the perfectly sweetened coffee.

"No, I'm better, my friend's doing better," he genuinely smiled. Stirring his coffee subconsciously, he had to resort to the comfortable doom-and-gloom he adapted to quite well, "But, I don't think she can last much longer," he disdainfully admitted.

Anouk gave a breathtakingly white toothy grin. She sipped on the remainder of her brown delicacy. "'Det blir som det blir'—'It will be like it will be' in Swedish," Anouk philosophically quipped. Spencer took delight in this statement as well as the bubbly blonde's presence and completely emptied his mug. Lying it off to the side, Anouk hastily grabbed it, "Do you wish to receive a Tasseographic reading?" she mystically bantered.

Spencer had heard of that, how it was traditional in Asia, "I don't believe that the future can be predicted by something as small as tea leaves," he intellectually stated.

"It doesn't sound like you believe in a lot," Anouk peered down into the cup, strands of her hair falling to frame her face due to the laws of gravity. "The little things are usually the big things later," she said in a trance like state.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer rebutted, "I believe in synecdoche, the reference…"

Anouk cut him off, "When part of something is used to refer to the whole thing," she smirked. Spencer shouldn't have been surprised at her intelligence, but he couldn't help but wonder who else gave a fuck about synecdoche. He didn't even give a fuck; he simply knew the term, that's it. Not Anouk though. She ignorantly cared about everything like apathy would result in certain death. That was the reason her eyes twinkled with an innocence of a child. Children still care because they aren't hardened adults, "Let's see, there's a raven at the beginning of the spiral, followed by a dog, a candle, and then there's the largest kite I've ever seen before at the bottom of the cup," Anouk mused.

Reid was now interested, "What's a kite mean?" he curiously furrowed his brow.

Placing the tea cup back onto the saucer, Anouk folded her arms over her chest. With a rotation of her eyes Holly would be jealous of, Spencer nervously chortled, "When did you start believing in Tasseography?" she put up a convincing façade of sternly chiding with her gritty voice.

Crossing his arms in a similar motion, he dared to stare into her pupils. There wasn't even several seconds he could spare without blushing, so he decided to spit out what he was to say already, "When I started believing in probability," he responded.

"A kite means that the shade of red you're wearing right now is absolutely ridiculous," Anouk giddily giggled in the most peculiar manner. It made Spencer blush further. Self-consciously, she sipped on her coffee quickly, "I'm sorry," she quietly said after a long anticipated gulp, "I have a really weird laugh."

Spencer shook his head, "No, don't be sorry for something that everyone else is fighting for," he grimaced at the truth of his words. When was the last time he laughed naturally and didn't have a heavy heart weighing down his morale?

Anouk stared down into her cup forlornly. "Look at you becoming all insightful," she commented, swishing around the grounds in her tea cup.

"Seriously," Spencer felt his face getting really hot and his stomach twisting in personal disgust, "You- You have this thing An-Ano-Anouk, I can forget a-a-about everything going on up there when I'm just hanging around you," he flubbed his speech in embarrassment. He hoped she felt wanted. In a little under twelve hours Spencer felt like he knew Anouk forever. Anouk was one of those girls who deserved so much more than anyone could possibly give her.

She just would never realize it. Anouk probably would find someone that treated her like crap, like Spencer was now. The two girls, Anouk and Florence, were comparable in a way—they could never be replaced. They both had a unique position in Spencer's memories. "The reading is done in a spiral, whatever is first is the nearest to the future, and the bottom of the cup is the far future," Anouk explained to Spencer. Nodding, she refused his eye contact as a result of the extensive compliment Spencer recently gave her, "A raven, the near future, symbolizes bad news."

"A dog, next in line, symbolizes a loyal friend. A candle represents enlightenment," Anouk beamed brightly, "And this huge kite means that your wishes will come true," she confided.

Reid knew that it wasn't true, but the bad news part threw him off. He was expecting it, but that wouldn't make it any easier when the time came, if the time came and he hadn't died of stress already. "I still don't believe in it," Spencer shook his head as the slight breeze picked up his hair.

"What's the worst that could happen? It's wrong?" Anouk tested him, leaning herself over the table. Consequently, she was near his face, with the beautiful eyes drilling holes in his forehead. Consequently, the breeze picked up on her perfume, a smell that intoxicated Spencer. It had notes of vanilla and an ultra sexy musk that sent goose bumps down his arms. Consequently, her lips were pulled back in a frustrated notion that was truthfully tempting Spencer. "Are you going to kiss me or what?" she dryly chuckled, rolling her eyes lazily.

"I'm not going to kiss you because I still love the girl that's slowly slipping away, it's not fair for you to be a rebound or another woman," Spencer was surprised at how confident he sounded.

Anouk pulled away, "And I want to thank you for that, you're sweet Spencer, and besides… You're a tourist," she playfully smirked. With a look of wonder plastered on her face, she blurted, "Have you ever been kissed before?"

Spencer nodded to communicate 'yes' as she blushed, "I haven't been kissed before and I'm twenty five," she nervously jittered.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: **Read whole chapter and explanation. I don't have a good feeling about this one.

* * *

_**"Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it." ~Swedish Proverb.**_

* * *

"Do you need me to walk you home?" Spencer queried as she easily hopped down from the tall table.

Gracefully, Anouk shook her head, "I live above the furniture store next door, I think you need to get back to your friend ASAP," she accidently stroked the tips of Spencer's fingers. Spencer didn't ignore this either, and prayed it was, in fact, an accident. He agreed with her. Given the circumstances weren't like they were, he would have insisted, he would've bought Anouk flowers and he wouldn't destroy them with her. Though Anouk was a charming person, he only wanted that sort of storybook love with Florence. "If anything happens, I'm home most of the time, just come to the store," she gestured to the blue and white painted building, "But if you're here in the morning and you're up to it, your coffee is waiting with me," Anouk chuckled delightfully in the weird way Spencer told her to embrace.

"I promise I will see you before I leave, and I will write to you when I get home," Spencer vowed as various car horns beeped in the busy street, "I'll see you soon, Anouk," he promised her.

Balancing the dishes in her pale arms, she craned her neck to kiss Spencer on his cheek, "You too, Spencer," she grinned. Walking away, she surely knew how to keep a man on his heels. Spencer hated himself for liking Anouk, especially while the professed love of his life was struggling with every breath across the street. Maybe Flo meant this when she was talking about how he'd find that girl who the light attached to. Anouk's hair was pretty bright.

As he crossed the teeming street and made his way across the private hospital's plaza, he couldn't help but stop and stare at the large angel fountain that served as a plaque commemorating all EMT's or something. It made him think about heaven, hell, angels. If Florence could go to a great place like heaven, would he believe in it? The answer was yes, without a single doubt it was yes, Flo deserved so much more than to just sit and decay within four walls of a wooden box. But Spencer couldn't shake his reasoning that always remained dominant over things that couldn't exist. He didn't mind, it kept him sane.

Removing himself from the plaza area, he speed walked to the entrance closest in proximity to the waiting room they'd all been crashing in. Much to his surprise, when he entered the main lobby, he found most of the team seated there. Emily strangely wrapped her arms around Holly's waist and almost literally dragged the girl into the public restroom in similarity to a mother. Something wasn't right and he felt it.

He stood behind the sectional, placing his hands on the back of the leather. JJ turned around with tear glazed irises and placed one handover Spencer's. Rossi gave him a morose glance, with a silent, barely noticeable nod. "She's not doing well?" Spencer frowned. Though he already suspected it, he hoped it wasn't bad. He hoped—another mistake.

Rossi shook his head, "They said she didn't suffer, son," the experienced man frowned deeply. Reid took a while to comprehend what that meant. Those damned tears stained his vision. Slowly, he pivoted on his heel to walk out of the building.

And when he went back outside, it was too bright; everything was too vivid to have been the day of her passing. Spencer knew in his heart Florence died fighting for every last drop of oxygen. Slumping against the brick wall, his head found his way to his knees and his arms protected his skull, and Reid refused to care who saw or heard. Sobs broke hard, clouding all vision if there was anything to see. He heard Garcia's voice and he knew she was saying something very beautiful, it was hard to register beauty now, especially when the world seemed so ugly to him. But something left his mouth that was so cliché, and he knew it would receive a just as clichéd answer, "Why her?"

Penelope handed him a tissue as soon as he pulled his stained face from his lap. He accepted it and was immediately thankful for his friend's grace. "God, I wish I knew," Garcia dabbed her black tear trails. "Why'd Victor ever hit her? Why'd her sister ever stab her in the back? Why'd Nathan torture her with a hot iron? I mean Christ, she wasn't perfect, but why would anyone want to hurt her?" Penelope mused.

It was exactly what Reid felt, and he knew he should probably say that, but he couldn't right now. He was too stupid to realize that Florence wasn't the only thing in the world he could find beautiful. Though he was sure Anouk wouldn't make it better, and he didn't want to pressure her, he silently longed to know how the girl would react. She probably couldn't do as good of a job as Garcia because Penelope is Penelope and everything she does is so beautiful because it's done by her, and no one is like her. Spencer thought that it could apply to everyone, but as he let himself think about it, it didn't. Not everyone can be naturally radiant like Penelope because then it wouldn't make her special anymore.

Everything made sense to him, and it didn't at the same time. Spencer now knew his life was a contradiction that wasn't in his control. He hated it. This was a time he wanted it all to go away. If it weren't for Florence's words, he would've done it too, he would've thrown his life away. She did her job well.

* * *

A knock came on his apartment door. Looking through the peep hole, he saw Derek standing outside. He sighed silently, Spencer understood he couldn't hole up and be alone all the time, though he wanted to. Usually he wrote to Anouk and his mother and then feel asleep until he woke up the next morning. Spencer never got to say goodbye to Anouk and their letters never talked about anything of importance. Even though he hinted he was having a rough time, Anouk never responded in anything but a saying. Though they were thought provoking in Istanbul, they pissed Reid the fuck off in real life context.

He was expecting her to be there for him, but he supposed she hadn't had anyone to comfort her when her brother in Ankara died. But still, it didn't make him less angry and resentful towards the distant girl. Derek patiently knocked again and Spencer opened the door as a pain shot up his ligaments for some unbeknownst reason. "Hey, kid," Derek sat groceries down in the chair next to the door. Florence used to lay her stuff there. Reid painfully remembered the time she brought him cupcakes and sat them on that chair. Then after the cupcakes, they had sex, and as always, she was really good.

"Holy shit Reid," Morgan's voice raised several octaves as he observed the left wall where the countless diplomas hung. The mirror that usually housed itself on the far right was shattered. Reflective materials glittered in the carpet. Blood stained his walls and lightly sprayed the carpet. Spencer peered at the comforter lying askew on the loveseat he must've been sleeping on, which was odd considering he was longer than two of the loveseats, as the thick, downy, blanket had a large spot coated in more of the ominous, crimson liquid. Derek picked up a nearly empty bottle of tequila, "What did your liver ever do to you?"

"What?" Spencer rushed over and felt his hand twitch in pain again. Pulling it up to meet his eyes, he saw the fragments of glass and clotted blood. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Derek frowned, dragging Spencer into the kitchen. "You know, I can do this myself," Spencer annoyingly added.

Derek shook his head and began plucking out chunks of glass. Each gnarly shard made his hand erupt into spasms of pain. He guessed he believed in karma too now, what goes around comes around; Spencer inappropriately wondered if there was a Swedish saying for that one. He'd have to ask Anouk. "You're not doing okay, are you?" Derek pondered.

Spencer shook his head. Actually, he thought he was doing alright. The funeral was next Sunday, his mother was lucid this week, and he was able to get stuff done. It was just her damn memories that haunted him. There was no more surprise visits or stop-ins to remind her she was beautiful. Reid missed that. "I'm alright."

"You got black out drunk in your living room, and before passing out, you punched a mirror," Morgan stressed to him as he forcefully stuck Spencer's hand into lukewarm water. A small yelp issued from his throat before he silenced it. Spencer certainly didn't want to look like more of a pussy than he was. "Something's up," Derek concluded, "You're not using again are you?" the friend's eyes grew extremely wide.

Not feeling a need to become defensive because he wasn't guilty, Reid rolled his eyes, "No," he said in the most reassuring tone he could muster.

And so Derek bandaged his hand and they sat and watched the movie he brought over. For once, Morgan had picked something to appeal to both parties. They sat in peaceful silence as the documentary unraveled. For once, Spencer didn't sputter out answers, facts, and trivia. This was one time and they both took a silent, but definitely shared, understanding in that. As well as that small tidbit, the larger issue was agreed upon in the absence of words—Spencer wasn't okay.

* * *

**_EXPLANATION: STOP AND READ._**

_ Just to clear things up- it was my plan to have Florence die all along. Anouk wasn't planned, she just happened. As to what will become of Anouk... I don't know yet, I don't want to think about it. She's too innocently optimistic for my tastes. Anouk is loosely modeled after Calpurnia in the Tragedy of Julius Caesar in relation to Calpurnia's intuitive dreams._

_Anywho... _

_Above all, it was just always my plan to have her Flo die, especially since Reid is getting a girlfriend this season and the fact that I didn't want to have to write a sappy romance with some 'forbidden love' angst. Even though... It is sort of forbidden love now, because Flo's dead... What can I say? I love a Hamlet ending :). _

_So hate me if you want to, I can't abandon my ideas._


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Change of plans, I'm too excited to not post the whole thing tonight. This is the end of it all I guess.

Thanks for the journey, and sorry for my impulses and rush, rush, rush attitude. I need to flush all of this from my system so I can focus on getting Nano underway and my singing.

Enjoy- even though everyone probably hates me for what I wrote in. Sorry.

* * *

_**"I'll die for you, but I won't live for you." ~Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.**_

* * *

Spencer's hair blew into his face. The park bench was cold, colder than ice in the winter despite the fall coming into effect. That song, 'Signs of the Judgment,' was stuck in his head. Victor joined in at the last moment, Spencer wanted to punch him in his face but the guy was as big as Morgan. As much as he wanted to strangle the abusive ex of Florence's, Spencer admitted Victor sang well, too well almost.

Then there was a part of him that felt bad for Victor, he had just been diagnosed with Bipolar I, lost a brother and the alleged 'love of his life.' For someone who beat and scarred Flo to a pulp, Victor cried more than Penelope. Derek even mustered a few tears. But, by far, Holly, Victor, and Penelope were the worse because they were emotional people. Surprisingly, Spencer didn't shed a tear. He didn't like to acknowledge he was there. Nothing could ever shake the feeling of the wooden bar encased around his grip only a mere hour earlier. That was the icing on the cake. That recognition was the seal to the deal.

She was gone. Absolutely, utterly, departed. Flo wasn't anything but a painful memory that he was reminded of every single second. There was a song on her iPod he listened to repeatedly, all because of the line, 'I think her death, it must be killing me.' Reid felt that way, but knew it was irrational.

Beside him, Holly sat down. The certain twang hit his nose. A freshly lit cigarette hung from her lips as she sat next to him. Holly was rightfully shook up about the death of Florence, it was written all over her face. Crestfallen, the girl exhaled with the wind catching the billowing cloud of smoke. "Every cigarette takes six minutes off your life," Spencer sighed.

"Six more minutes with Flo," Holly's voice croaked.

On impulse, without a solitary thought before hand, Spencer blurted, "Give me one then."

Holly took another drag, peering down the street into the dimly lit sun. It was partly cloudy, casting the perfect heavenly glow without the source of light being too bright, it was good, Spencer didn't need a headache. "I can arrest you for underage possession," Reid weakly threatened.

Smirking, she chuckled and passed over a lighter and a cigarette, Reid lit it to the best of his ability and gave the lighter back. The tobacco tasted absolutely disgusting, and his reason chose against it as well. But he still inhaled again. "You don't strike me as the type to have a death wish," Holly's twinkle lit up her bloodshot eyes. That twinkle resembled Flo's and sent him reminiscing over what he couldn't have. "You really wanted to be with her?" Holly's voice faltered.

Spencer coughed, nodding his head as he took another drag off of the cigarette. He felt nauseous. Why did people do this? His mind gave him the answer to his own musings. With little tolerance left, he took the singed, cancerous indulgence and snuffed it against the wrought iron curvature supporting his arm. Once more, he threw the butt on the ground and squished it into the moistened pavement with the rubber of his shoe.

Her death was killing him. "And you know, if I would've resisted, she'd never have got into this mess," Holly admitted, flicking her cigarette in mid air to cause portions of the kindling flame to release gray, ashy sediments, trickling fairly towards the sidewalk. Another gust of wind steadily whistled through the area, taking back hair and leaves with the direction the uncontrollable element chose.

"Don't do that to yourself," Spencer unconvincingly proclaimed.

Holly chuckled, "Yeah, I'm leaving for New York in a week."

"So I've heard," Reid gritted his teeth.

Victor had landed a big part in an Opera with the Metropolitan Opera. He didn't have any prerequisite training, he didn't even have an Associate's Degree, strangely enough the 'Met' scouted Victor through a Youtube video. Spencer really hated that he had success even though Spencer was still conflicted over whether or not he hated Victor. "I'm not giving up," Holly uncannily quoted that song Spencer witnessed what felt like so many nights ago.

Florence didn't give up on him. It took him this long to realize it. She loved him. With that simple statement, Holly left and Derek took the seat next to Spencer like they were on shifts. "You alright?" Derek queried.

"I loved her," Spencer admitted, shocked at what he just said.

"We all did," Derek reassured him. Reid knew he was just trying to be friendly.

But he took offense to the statement. Reid loved her more than the others. Spencer wanted to spend his life with Flo. Maybe even move into the suburbs, have a cat, a house with an extra room. He'd come home every night and she'd be there, safe. The ring he wanted to buy her popped into the dashboard of his mind. It was white gold, art deco, ring, intricately designed with a large oval stone in the center. "I was going to marry her," Reid hushed barely above a whisper.

Derek's eyes widened. Morgan had a look of disbelief so obvious, it made Spencer wonder why his friend even tried to appear all-knowing. Florence said he didn't have to take the secret to the grave like she would. "Yep, everyone was right when they thought I wasn't just her mentor," the young profiler sighed.

And the tears that were postponed fell. Though they cascaded silently down his cheeks, that didn't deny their existence. Just because it was all in his head didn't mean it wasn't real. Just because Florence is gone doesn't mean he'll never feel or give love again, he knew that all he had to do was give love and it would eventually come around for him. This love could be the silent type he and Derek shared as friends. It could be the personally intimate love he shared with Florence. Love could come in the forms of quirk, wit, and hugs from Garcia. The emotion could derive from the cool distance that Holly kept within herself. Nevertheless, it was all love. Like the Bible he heard recited today and wanted to believe was true but logical reasoning told him otherwise, "The greatest of these is love." Love is a defining point of simply living and being alive.

And through all of the various things he learned through the late, beautiful, redhead—something years of college and various doctorates couldn't provide- he learned this—

It goes on.

_Fin._

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_**"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die." ~Leonardo da Vinci**_


End file.
